


past the satellites and stars

by scarletred



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Angst, Astronauts, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Alternating, Post-Break Up, most likely heavy angst the more we progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22823188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletred/pseuds/scarletred
Summary: A group of astronauts embarks on a dangerous mission to discover why Mars is threatening the future of humanity.or: I really should stop watching space movies.
Relationships: Daniel Ricciardo/Max Verstappen
Comments: 29
Kudos: 27





	1. T

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
My brain loves messing with me, so here I am with this delirious new thing. I promised myself I would never post a chaptered fic before I actually finished the whole thing, but here we are. It felt too good to leave it in a corner of my mind forever. I hope I can finish it and I hope I can pull it off (sci-fi is definitely waaaay out of my writing league).
> 
> Does anyone else get their ideas in a movie-like form? I always get them in scenes and scattered moments and this time I chose to just go along with it. This first chapter will be the benchmark and we'll move around it. I still don't know whether I'll write all the "before" bits and then all the "after" ones or mix it up, but I hope it'll make sense when I'm done.
> 
> Sadly I'm neither an astronaut or a NASA employee so I have a grand total of zero ideas of how this sort of things actually work. A shout out to the NASA website for giving me so many useful information already. Still, this is probably going to be believable at best, definitely not realistic. (After all, who cares?)
> 
> This chapter may seem cryptic, but that's the purpose! Things will make more sense as we go. I know it ends on a cliffhanger, but no worries I'm not gonna let anyone die (I think!).
> 
> Okay, I've annoyed you too much already, these notes are longer than the chapter itself lmao byeeee
> 
> PS: title from Moving to Mars by Coldplay. Go! Listen! To! It!

Over the comm only the void crackle of static electricity can be heard.

Everyone is holding their breath, waiting and hoping for a sign. Any sign.

Time has frozen.

“Try again,” someone frantically pleads.

“Mission Control to Minerva, do you copy?”

He wracks his brain for any reasonable explanation, goes over and over every single detail, mind faster than a light beam. He still doesn’t understand.

From one of the rows behind him comes a loud “FUCK!” he sympathises with.

Toto, usually the poster of calm, slams a fist on his desk and for a second he looks about to throw his screen out of the window.

“Try again, try again! We can’t have lost them, for fuck’s sake!” he yells.

“Minerva, this is Houston. Do you copy?”

Nothing but white noise.

His pulse has gone into overdrive, he probably would have fainted minutes ago if it wasn’t for the adrenaline coursing through his veins alongside this sense of impotent panic that’s settling into his heart.

No, it can’t be. He refuses to give up.

_Please, please, give me an answer_.

He shuts his eyes and leans closer to the mic.

“Houston to Minerva. Do you copy?”

His nerves are so tense they fizz with energy. If nothing happens, he’s going to implode.

_Please, God, I’m begging you._

It’s so quiet he almost misses it at first over the whooshing sound of his own blood flow.

Could it be?

Maybe he’s making it up. Maybe his brain has decided to take pity on him and he’s hallucinating.

No, no, no. He’s not making it up.

Erratic breathing snakes from millions of kilometres away to his eardrums.

His heartrate already close to fibrillation accelerates some more.

“Houston, this is Houston. Is someone there?”

It’s clearer now.

The breathing.

So close yet so far away.

Impossibly far away.

Why the fuck did humans decide to go out in space?

Almost like they heard his thoughts someone starts laughing.

He’s about to turn left and right to glare at the annoying idiot when he realises.

The laugh comes from his earpiece.

He knows this laugh.

His legs suddenly turn to jelly and as he leans against the table he’s so grateful for the inventor of chairs.

He’s so elated he feels like crying for hours on end. Maybe he will.

Not now, not now though.

“_Max_. Pilot. What’s your status?” he asks.

Max Verstappen, their second in command, laughs again.

This time it sounds more choked up than before.

Maybe he’s as exhausted and hysterical as him.

Maybe he’s a bit low on oxygen and finds everything hilarious at the moment.

Maybe he’s just happy to be alive.

“Fuck, Seb. You have no idea how good it feels to hear a human voice again!” he exclaims.

Seb shakes his head and smiles, only to frown immediately afterwards.

Max didn’t leave alone. Then why…

“What do you mean? What about the others? What happened?” he panics.

The answer is a laugh covered in sarcasm.

“They’re all dead! Or passed out! I don’t know!” He pauses. “Either way it doesn’t matter because we’re all about to die anyway! We’re going down, Seb. We’re going down!”

A loud banging noise.

“WHAT! Max! You’re crashing? We’re in the dark! MAX!”

Max says something else, but the feed is too distorted to make out anything other than a strangled “goodbye”.

Dread taking over him, Seb can only stare at the monitors as they light up again for a cruel twist of fate. It’s a fickle hope that lasts a couple of seconds.

The little rocket representing their Minerva shuttle disappears just as quickly as it resurfaced.

All their computers turn pitch black and it feels like the sun itself has stopped working.

A chilling scream makes everyone’s blood run colder than it already was.

In horror Seb realises it comes from their Spacecraft Communicator.

Sebastian Vettel.

That’s him.

He's the one who's screaming.


	2. T-minus 300 days (Max)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: I have to study  
my brain: but what if we wrote instead?
> 
> Hi!  
New chapter! New characters! A peek into someone's backstory!  
I hope things start to make more sense with this one.  
Check the other notes for some explanations about *makes vague gestures* things.

The monotonous beeping sound pokes his brain earlier than he’d like it to.

He rolls around in bed half expecting to find another body lying next to him.

He knows he won’t. He should just forget about it, but he can’t.

It’s been a year already.

His muscles have readjusted to the effect of gravity.

His brain has fully reset to life on Earth.

He’s been promoted to a higher rank, the one he always dreamed of.

He’s been assigned a junior astronaut to work with.

Everything has been recalibrated to accommodate the change.

Everything except his traitorous heart.

When will it end?

These are the only moments he allows himself to be vulnerable. To reminisce. To daydream of golden skin and sunny smiles. And when his sense of duty kicks in he always blames it on the softness that comes with being barely awake. It’s a guilty pleasure, a drug more damaging than comforting.

He promises himself he won’t fall into the trap again come tomorrow morning.

He knows it’s a lie.

He’s about to get changed and head out for his usual morning run when he bumps into Pierre. The Frenchman seems to always be in a good mood and it’s unsettling to say the least. This morning he looks even more excited than usual. Max inwardly groans.

“Good morning, Max!”

“Morning, Pierre. Did I miss something?”

Pierre beams at him like a know-it-all who was just waiting for the teacher’s question. There was a time when he would have found it cute. That time has passed. Now he thinks it’s childish bordering on pathetic. He keeps the thought to himself.

“We’ve been called in for a meeting. There’s a rumour going around – hi Ted!”

Pierre interrupts himself to greet a random engineer passing by. Max is pretty sure he knows everyone’s name. He’s just one of _those_ people. Wait, was it an engineer or an IT guy? Max has no clue.

“Sorry. There’s a rumour going around saying that some ESA guys are arriving today for some reason,” he explains.

The NASA rumour mill has proved itself fast and efficient in the past, but Max hopes with all of his strength that they got it wrong this time. Not ESA. Not…

No, he’s not allowing himself to go there. Besides, what are the chances?

“ESA, uh? I wouldn’t believe everything that you hear down the corridors. People get easily bored and make up the most absurd things to keep themselves entertained. Do we know what the meeting is about?” he asks.

Pierre frowns slightly and shakes his head.

“No, but it seemed like an important thing. It’s in the _Lion’s Den_ so it’s likely all the big bosses will be there.”

_It seemed like an important thing_ he says. Like Max’s heart hasn’t skipped a beat at the mention of their headquarters. This morning just keeps getting better and better.

“Better not turn up late then, uh?” he comments as he starts walking in the direction of the building labelled with a big number one. Pierre nods and promptly follows him like the obedient puppy he is.

It’s only when their lift dings, signalling they’ve reached their floor, that his brain decides to briefly wonder what this meeting might be about. Maybe it’s just some silly educational project. Maybe they have to discuss the colours of their new spacesuits so that they don’t clash with the ones ESA chose. Maybe it’s one of those annoying meetings that became mandatory for him the moment another star got added to his jacket.

They walk in silence to the door that has a plate with _JSC Director_ written on it. Out of habit they straighten their freshly pressed clothes, check their already perfect tie knots, fix their impeccable hair. They exchange a nod and Max knocks.

“Come in!” comes a deep voice from inside.

The jovial face of Director Brawn greets them as they walk inside the spacious office. Max has always been impressed by the immense power radiating from this room. It’s not the plush table. It’s not the massive television screen. It’s not the person who occupies it either. It’s the windows. Two walls have been replaced by immaculate glass panes allowing to overlook the entirety of their space centre. You can see everything and everyone from up here. No secret can be hidden. Or so they like to think. The big bosses. Locked up in crystal cages pretending to know everything about anything when the vast majority of them wouldn’t even be able to fly a kite. Not Director Brawn though. He’s different. Max respects him for it. He’ll probably never let him know.

“Good morning, gentlemen. We were just waiting for you.”

There’s a figure looking outside that turns around upon being indirectly mentioned. Engineer Wolff, of course. Max should’ve known he’d be present too. Maybe it’s serious indeed.

“Morning, astronauts,” he greets.

“Good morning, sir,” Pierre says. “Director.” He nods.

Max almost rolls his eyes. He’s never been one for platitudes so he simply bows his head and sits down at the place assigned to him. Everyone follows his lead and he finds himself being accidentally elbowed by a fidgeting Pierre. He’s not the only one hating this charade already then.

Director Brawn is sitting across from them and he smiles gesturing to the water and juice pitchers in front of them. Leave it to Pierre to gladly accept a glass of whatever that dark red liquid is. Max is already tired of him and it’s not even 10am. How the hell they will manage for months up there he doesn’t know.

“Can someone please tell us why we were summoned?”

Straight to the point, there’s people who bask in uncertainty and mystery, but that life has never been appealing to him. He wants to know. Everything. All the time. Even when it hurts, _especially_ when it hurts.

From where he’s leaning against a column Wolff makes a face. He already knows Max won’t like what he’s about to hear. Lovely. He looks at Director Brawn, but he’s staring at his own hands with an unreadable expression. Did someone die? Are they pushing their mission back? NASA is shutting down because they run out of funding?

“I’ll explain the details later, but for the past months we’ve had some weird readings from our probes and rovers on Mars.”

Okay, so? Max still doesn’t understand why they got called in first thing in the morning. They’re not data analysts. They’re not Mars experts either.

“We’re working with other space agencies to better understand what’s going on.”

Oh no. The rumour mill has done it again, hasn’t it?

“Some ESA personnel is on their way here as we speak. They have already landed and should arrive within minutes.”

Max suddenly feels cold all over.

Breathe.

Maybe it’s not him.

He would have declined if they asked him to.

God, Max hopes he declined because it’s obvious they asked him.

Pierre beside him has gone from extremely confused to mildly worried to oddly excited in the span of a few moments. Weirdo.

Director Brawn is still refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

Flight Director Toto Wolff is staring at him like he’s waiting to see if he’s going to explode or not.

Everyone knows he’s got _history _with ESA, but nobody truly knows what happened.

_Something about his last mission_ they whisper.

They say _he fought with his superior officer and almost killed him._

But they can’t know, can they?

No one else was there.

No one but them.

Twenty minutes pass and they’re the second longest twenty minutes of Max’s life.

Twenty minutes pass before a knock is heard.

“Come in!” someone says. Probably Director Brawn since this is his office after all.

Max tries not to hold his breath and fails.

He blinks and for the first time in almost a year they’re in the same room again.

Of course.

They say your past never truly leaves you, Max just hoped it wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

_He_ wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

“Captain Ricciardo!” the ever enthusiastic Pierre exclaims.

He can’t really blame him. Daniel is somewhat a legend around here.

“It’s so great to see you again!” adds Brawn.

Yeah. No. Not for him at least.

Wolff mock salutes him. Daniel laughs. It’s almost like he never left.

Almost. But not quite.

And then he turns to him and time seems to slow down.

He knows it’s not true.

He turns to him and Max would swear that softness flickers in his gaze.

Just a fleeting second and it’s gone.

How long can a second last?

How long will he replay it in his head?

“Hi, Dan,” he says.

It feels like jumping off a cliff.

“Hi, Max,” he replies.

It feels like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I said before: I'm just going to bullshit my way through most of this using Wiki and the NASA website as main sources for _this thing_. There are already a few things that wouldn't make sense irl so here's some explaining no one asked for.
> 
> Like I said in the first chapter "T" is going to be our benchmark and we'll move around it. "T-minus [amount of time]" is what they normally use during the countdown for a launch. T is the precise time the launch is going to happen, so "T-minus 3 hours" means "3 hours before launch".  
In this fic T doesn't refer to the launch <strike>which will make me scratch my head when I'll write about the launch</strike> because I liked this benchmark better. It's angstier and it makes more sense. For this reason I should have used another letter, like E for Event, but I liked T better so it stays. I hope no one is bothered by my choice.
> 
> To be a NASA astronaut you have to be a US citizen. I didn't want them all to be Americans (first because I didn't like the idea and also because I know myself and I know I would've slipped and defined them French/Dutch etc somewhere) so we're just going to pretend that nationality isn't a requirement. Same for ESA I suppose. (I didn't actually check, but I'm not too convinced they would have an Australian there lmao). Also, ESA stands for European Space Agency. It's like our NASA but... smaller.
> 
> I also have no idea how the astronaut ranks are, we're just gonna use some I found on Wiki and that made sense. Maybe Daniel should have a higher rank at this point of his career? I don't know. Let's pretend we're good.  
In my universe "junior astronauts" are those never been to space and "senior astronauts" are those who have been there already. Is this a thing in real life too? Once again, I don't know. (Can you tell I'm a lazy writer? 'Cause I can.)
> 
> I roughly know that NASA and ESA (and other agencies, like the Russian one for example) tend to work together nowadays, _mi casa es tu casa_ and so on, but I had F1 in mind so picture them a tad more competitive. They cooperate, but they're not too fond of each other. My NASA is pretty much based on Red Bull and my ESA... you'll see. I still mixed up a lot of drivers/TPs/engineers and what not because my fic my rules. I hope I didn't make too much of a mess.
> 
> Since there are a lot of characters in this and a lot of things going on I'll often change POV, but I'll try and stick with the same one in every chapter.
> 
> I think this is it for now.  
Let me know what you think!


	3. T-minus 300 days (Lando)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! We finally meet part of the ESA squad!

As they enter the Johnson Space Center he feels more of a heathen than usual.

He doesn’t belong to this sanctity, his feet not worthy of this holy ground they’re standing on.

History, _literal_ history has been made here. Probably will be made in the future still.

Maybe, just maybe, they’ll be making history too.

It’s quite unclear what they had to come here for.

It’s quite unclear what _he_ had to come here for.

Not that he’s complaining, heck, if you had told little Lando that one day he’d be walking on NASA grounds with a _level 3 access_ badge around his neck he would have never believed it.

He’s not sure of the full meaning of _level 3 access_, but he’ll figure it out.

No, okay, he’ll definitely ask Alex as soon as they are alone.

He’s almost certain they explained it to them, but he shamefully wasn’t listening that much.

He’s at NASA, for fuck’s sake.

Little Lando fucking did it.

He may possibly 100% totally feel like crying.

He also may or may not have shed a couple of tiny tears already.

Living the dream, baby.

He feels so lucky.

Charles and engineer Binotto are discussing something gravity related just a few steps ahead of them. Daniel fucked off the minute he was allowed to, since he already knows the place and whatnot. The rest of their group is busy either asking questions to one of their guides or taking selfies as they walk. Adjusting the backpack on his shoulders he almost feels like a kid on a school trip.

Work, Lando. Remember you’re here for working purposes. This is not a family holiday.

Someone runs up to him and immediately tugs at the straps, making him lose the balance for a second.

He would have known who it was even without Alex’s exasperated exhale of his name.

“Whassup, nerds?” he asks, obviously trying (and failing) to imitate Daniel.

Alex shakes his head, fondness written all over his features. Lando’s bullet point plan needs to gain some speed or these two are going to declare their undying love to one another in the afterlife.

“Look, I got a NASA tee!” he happily exclaims.

He knows he sounds a bit silly, but he actually is a _nerd_ and he’s not ashamed of it. Why buy a NASA t-shirt from an ordinary shop in Europe when he can get one at _the_ NASA for free? Shit, is he even allowed to wear clothes from another space agency? He adds it to the ever growing mental list of things he needs to check with his personal assistant. Alex. It’s actually the other way around: Lando is supposed to be assisting Alex with whatever he may need, but most of the time he finds himself shouting for his help. He’s still in the process of learning after all.

George looks him up and down, then just shrugs, sunglasses causing him to appear even more serious. Tanned and muscular arms, hair slightly ruffled by the wind, he could be the perfect billboard for their next astronaut recruitment campaign. Alex beside him isn’t much too different: the slacks and baby blue shirt combo making immediately evident to everyone that he’s an engineer. A very young and still a bit awkward one, but an engineer nonetheless.

And then there’s Lando. Or as his colleagues slash friends always affectionately call him: _little_ Lando. Lando who still very much struggles with random acne flare ups. Lando who isn’t exactly an intern anymore, but who also isn’t a proper engineer already. Lando who’s been going regularly to Sunday school, but doesn’t feel any closer to the day of his official christening. Because this is how it feels, isn’t it? Being initiated to the sacred profession of sending men and women in outer space, reaching and seeing things he can only imagine at night when the room is dark and no one is there to judge him for being more sentimental than what is considered appropriate. He envies George’s apparent inability of feeling the full range of human emotions. It would make his life so much easier.

“Are you zoning out again?” Alex nudges him gently.

“I’m just overwhelmed, I think.”

_Overwhelmed_ doesn’t even begin to cover it. He never thought he’d make it across the pond so early in his life, let alone to follow ESA in a mysterious joint project with the most famous and important space agency in the whole world. Yet here he is. Little Lando on what is already set to be an insane adventure no matter what happens next.

Alex softly smiles at him as he ruffles his hair, then wraps an arm around his shoulders and starts listing facts of little to no interest about the buildings they’re passing by. How he even knows this stuff Lando has no idea. It’s probably just another Alex thing. Engineer Binotto, no wait, _Mattia_ as he prefers to be called insisted they walk across the space centre. They’re going to be here for a while it seems, so they might as well start learning their way around as soon as possible. But Lando is jetlagged, in desperate need of a shower and he still feels incredibly stiff from the endless flight they just endured.

“Are we close yet? I’m tired of walking” he whines, feet childishly dragged on the asphalt.

“Do you want me to carry your backpack?” Alex asks just as George is offering to pick him up.

“WHAT? Are you serious?”

George simply nods and motions for him to jump on his back.

“I really wouldn’t try that, George. What if you fall and both get hurt?” Alex. Part time ESA engineer, full time mother hen.

“Nah. Little Lando doesn’t weigh that much. Besides I gotta keep in shape somehow,” he reasons.

On any other day Lando would have sternly protested that he’s not _that_ small and he would have told George off for being the cocky self-entitled show-off he is sometimes. But today Lando is feeling lazy and tired so that’s how he finds himself being piggybacked across the JSC by England’s youngest astronaut. Because this is his life now apparently.

After some time Alex informs them that the building they can now see in the distance is the one they’re headed to. George suddenly starts running and Lando can’t stop the yelp escaping his mouth. Someone in their group laughs at their foolishness while Mattia is yelling at them to behave. As they run past him Charles shakes his head in disapproval. He’s becoming more and more boring and _grown-up_ with each passing day, but Lando guesses that’s what being an astronaut does to you. He hopes George won’t be as affected when his time comes.

“One of these days you two will give me a heart attack!” Alex shouts.

George almost accidentally drops him in order to flip him off from afar.

Yeah. He definitely hopes his friends won’t ever change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:  
\- I've listened to the RB podcast where Alex says he'd like to be an astronaut for one day after plotting this and he was already an engineer for me by then. Sorry Alex, better luck next time, I guess.  
\- I swear I didn't want my Lando to be an overthinker but this is how we roll today it seems.  
\- I already apologise in advance for the random/infrequent updates this will most likely have because life gets busy and I struggle with consistency when it comes to writing :( but I'll try my best, I promise!!
> 
> I don't know about you, but I love this trio so much already and I can't wait to write more of them!! But the next chapter is going to be from Daniel's POV I think. 
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	4. T-minus 300 days (Daniel)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say that Daniel is still hung-up on someone, uh?  
And he definitely doesn't have hard feelings towards his former employers.

The chair is squeaky underneath his weight and it’s making him slightly uncomfortable.

But is there anything about this that’s not making him uncomfortable?

He doesn’t like how _unbalanced_ they are.

Way too many of them are sitting at this table.

The big bosses are just one conference call away, he can already spot their pixelated frames out of the corner of his eye. Ready to sneer and politely dissent from them.

And he knows, he knows _they_ used to be his people.

But they’re not anymore.

It’s quite unnerving. That’s what it is.

The cold familiarity of it.

How many meetings did they face in here?

How many times did they have each other’s back?

He can’t help but wonder: how many filled seats would it take to form a light year?

As the introductions drag on and on he catches himself staring at him.

A black hole with an overpowering gravitational pull.

Maybe it’s because they’re almost at the opposite ends of the table.

He’s no physics expert, but opposites attract, right?

Mental note: ask Charles about black holes and their effect on gravity later.

He knows he should be listening. He knows he should be paying more attention to what is being said. But he’s familiar with the reason why they’re all gathered here like the not so happy bunch they are. _Mars is fucking up our satellites! We have to reset all our comm systems every week or so! Oh no, what shall we ever do?_ He’s heard all of this before. Multiple times even.

He looks more level-headed than he ever did. The selfish and bastard part of him wishes it’s just an act. A carefully crafted and refined façade he puts on every morning. That’s what he’s had to do for the past twelve months anyway. It would only be fair if he were to torture himself the same way. Mulling that disaster of a conversation over and over. Analysing every pause, every breath, every drop of spit they hurled at each other.

He shakes his head trying to regain some focus.

“…tion would be to go over there and see for ourselves.”

Max is snickering and he hates the fact he can practically hear him voicing his thoughts.

_Sure, let’s take the bus heading straight to fucking Mars, where’s the problem?_

They always make these fucking things sound so simple. He knows they don’t mean to downplay everything, but that’s what they end up doing anyway. They’re not the ones going up there, that’s the thing. They don’t know what it’s like. Having to say goodbye to everyone and everything you know. Hoping and praying that you’ll make it back in one piece. Giving up control to people whose names you can’t possibly remember because there’s just too many. Trusting the hands of some metalworker from Ohio or Arizona who built a crucial part of the rocketship they’re sending you up with. There’s only so much of it that’s down to you, the rest is completely out of your hands. You have to make your peace with it or be condemned to driving yourself insane over the tiniest of details. Did they use the right oxygen mixture? Is that cabin airtight? Or did they screw up so badly we’re going to blow up as soon as the ignition procedure begins? Aerospace flight is an act of faith. It can get draining, even for a believer like him.

“Are you suggesting a Mars mission?” asks a bit incredulously the NASA Administrator. Who also happens to be Max’s father. Yeah, it’s… complicated. He definitely played a part in his decision to move the fuck away from here. Highly toxic air seems to always surround him.

In front of him MOD Horner visibly shudders. He already knows there will be endless talks of cost-benefit analysis and budget cuts management. If they’d all be quiet for just a second, they would hear the whirring going on inside his brain. He never asked how he got the job and, most importantly, why he kept it. His better guess is that the pay makes it all worth it in the end, but does it really? All the painkillers swallowed in the attempt of blocking headaches that are already in full motion? The late-night dramas that could be easily avoided if politics wasn’t so full of bullshit? He can’t even begin to imagine the half of it and he honestly doesn’t want to. He’s done empathising with the enemy.

“We spent years developing the technology for it. We could speed things up and be ready in a few months,” intervenes Binotto. “It wouldn’t be a problem for ESA.”

Every single NASA employee freezes. Wrong button. Wrong button.

“ESA this, ESA that. If you’re so fucking good, why don’t you fix it on your own then?” retorts Dr. Marko.

And just like that they’re in the middle of another round of the never ending NASA vs ESA debate. _Who was born first? Yeah, but who invented that machine you use today? And what about the encrypting programs?_ It’s all so fucking pointless. Everyone knows it, so why are they still at it?

“Messieurs… gentlemen, _please,_” comes the tired voice of their Director General. “We are here to cooperate. Let’s try and keep it civil, shall we?”

He breathes in relief. It’s so refreshing to have someone in charge who won’t gloat in a collective state of misery and mutual hatred. DG Todt has a strict no-conflict policy and he’s just been reminded of how good that is.

“No one can solve a crisis this big on their own. No one. We need to help each other and find a solution. Together.”

Everyone nods, more or less convinced. Everyone but Jos Verstappen, of course. Dicks will be dicks and all that. His inner voice – that sounds suspiciously like his therapist – tells him to ignore it. He probably should listen to her advice a bit more.

Director Brawn starts discussing the logistical aspects of this partnership with his counterpart and it really is a blessing that Mattia decided to be the one leading their group. As Head of ESTEC he could have easily declined the offer and let someone else take up this difficult role. Yet here he is, willingly in the lion’s den, having to face what’s already set to be the hardest negotiation of his lifetime. He remembers when they first met: for a second he thought they were pulling a prank on him. The new guy, a NASA runaway moreover… they probably roped a random technician into introducing himself as the Director of Engineering and waited for his reaction. Except it wasn’t an elaborate prank. This calm and collected man actually was one of his new bosses. Shocking for someone used to fits of rage and fiery glances.

Every now and then Director Wolff or one of their other Directors back in Europe interrupts them to clarify one point or the other.

_Who is going to take care of the nav systems?_ ESA, of course.

_What about the engines?_ NASA.

_Communications?_ They can share that bit.

They go back and forth, like this, for God knows how long. Shouldn’t they be discussing this kind of stuff in a separate meeting? Or were they hoping they would have all agreed to this mission either way? Daniel suspects negotiations were already well under way when they were told to pack their bags and board a flight. He wonders what Max knew about it. If his time here in Houston taught him anything, he suspects not much.

Seb and Jenson are arguing about the software they should be using. Apparently NASA and ESA use two different ones and neither of them wants to back off. What a surprise. He knows for a fact that Seb spends his free time experimenting with different programs and settings so he really doesn’t get what game he’s playing now. Maybe he just wants another _employee of the month_ award. Maybe they’ve all been instructed to turn every trivial thing into a hardship. He wouldn’t put it past them.

His rusty knowledge of German is enough to pick up that Max just scolded him for this exact reason. So now Seb and he are furiously bickering over the concept of _loyalty_. To the Agency? To one another? He’s not sure. What he’s sure of is that the Head of EAC is finding this comic interlude quite amusing. He’s a slimy bastard though. And he’s German too, so he’s understanding every single insult that’s being thrown around. Rather, that Max is throwing around. Some things never change apparently.

Poor sweet Pierre, who’s sat right in between them, sends a desperate look to Director Wolff. Yeah, someone definitely needs to step in. This is getting embarrassing and from the looks of it instead of dying out it’s possibly escalating.

“Haltet die Klappe!” he shouts. It also serves to stop Director Rosberg from laughing any further. What was the saying? Two birds with one stone? That.

“Since the main operation base will be here, our ESA colleagues can use their preferred comm systems if they wish to do so.” Seb moves to protest, but Toto is quick to shut him up. “It’s only fair to treat our guests nicely.” He throws a glance to Max as well, for good measure.

“What about the other space agencies? Are they participating too?” Charles asks.

He has to give it to him: he’s probably the only one in the room who seems unfazed by all this tension. The only one besides Kimi, of course. But Kimi doesn’t really count. Being undeterred is his default setting.

Upon hearing Charles’s question Jos Verstappen promptly scoffs. With this kind of attitude he’s not surprised nobody wanted to work with them. Self-entitled prick. Trump gave him the throne after all.

“The Russians are busy as long as their astronaut is on the ISS. He arrived there two days ago which is to say they won’t help us that much. They still offered some of their satellites and facilities in case we need them so I’d still count that as a win,” Horner explains. “Same goes for the Chinese. It took them so long to join the rest of us they don’t want any kind of distractions for the time being. India instead offered some technical support. As we know they don’t have astronauts yet, but they’ll help however they can.”

“What about all the others?” timidly asks Pierre.

“The space agencies equipped enough to be of any help are only a few, most countries have hinted at the possibility of some sort of financial support if our plan seems pretty solid. We’re basically on our own.” No need to make it sound so tragic, Chris.

“Mister _Ricchiardo_ please tell us about Australia,” Helmut Marko viciously suggests.

Five years. He has worked for this asshole for five years. And he still can’t pronounce his surname correctly. Forget about the rank, he doesn’t care about a title, but his name… And they wonder why he fucking left them. The request itself is a mockery. A man who sticks his nose in everyone’s business can’t be unaware of what happened to ASA. He won’t give him the satisfaction of being ignored.

“Our–” he clears his throat “–our space agency shut down years ago. Lack of funding and international support.” You. You didn’t help them enough. Because you’re the ones who went on the fucking moon. You don’t mix with commoners and amateurs.

“What a shame. You guys seemed so enthusiastic about it,” he has the audacity to comment. The fucking nerve of this fucking man. He hopes he’ll fuck off as soon as his presence here is no longer wanted. He knows Brawn and Wolff won’t hesitate to kick him out if they deem it necessary.

Binotto, being the practical man he is, chooses this moment to set foot on another landmine the size of Jupiter.

“Since it’s basically just us: who is going to be in charge of this project?” he inquires.

The scene that follows could easily belong in a western movie. They collectively hold their breath as their eyes move from one face to another, trying to figure out who will break the silence first. Time has significantly slowed down. It’s the moment before the final duel and everyone’s reaching for their gun.

Once again he can’t help but look over to Max. He’s staring at some random point outside the massive windows, jaw tight, as serious as ever. Despite his childish quarrel with Seb he thinks the new title suits him. _You should have gotten that promotion _says his inner voice. It’s the truth, a simple fact. He wasn’t supposed to go away and start over from scratch. But this kind of thoughts are a waste of energy now. What’s done is done and he doesn’t regret it one bit. He regrets what happened but not the aftermath, never the aftermath. It would be incoherent to do so.

He can tell Charles noticed he’s often staring at Max. That question lingering on the top of his tongue: _will you tell me what happened one day?_ He knows this is only the first of a multitude of questions he’d be flooded by if only Charles weren’t so respectful. Probably every single person in this room would like to know what happened. What shook him so much so that he decided to leave everyone and everything behind, quit his job and knock on ESA’s door hoping to be let in. It’s not a conversation you can have over a cup of coffee at breakfast. It’s not a conversation he wants to have. Period. It’s definitely selfish and probably counter-productive to keep who’s quickly grown to be his closest friend in the dark, but some secrets are meant to remain just that. Secrets.

After a few seconds that feel like an eternity thanks to his mess of a brain, Toto Wolff exchanges a nod with his three bosses and fires his shot.

“I’ll be in charge. We’ll be using mainly our facilities and personnel so it would only make sense for NASA to guide everything. Besides there’s no time to waste, I’m already familiar with everything and everyone here.”

It sounds reasonable. It also sounds incredibly convenient. They definitely discussed this earlier. Shady bastards.

“Obviously we’ll share all the key roles we were discussing earlier on. It’s a collaboration among equals and we’ll try and make it as perfectly balanced as possible in all its aspects.”

He has to hold back a snort. Equals. Balanced. Yeah, right. If it’s as balanced as this meeting, they’re in for a ride. If they have everyone’s best interests at heart, why does it feel like they just walked unarmed into a meticulously prepared ambush?

From where he’s seated Max finally meets his gaze.

Lightning quick he diverts his eyes.

It still leaves him electrified.

Salt on a wound that will never fully close.

He’s going to be ripped apart, isn’t he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I don't know about you but this chapter drained me! So many people to introduce and ughhh a meeting so boring Daniel kept zoning out :/ yeah, I feel you man
> 
> As usual a few explanations/things:  
\- I don't speak a word of German and I spent twenty minutes trying to figure out the right way of saying "shut up" in a slightly rude/informal way so please correct me if what I've written is utter bullshit
> 
> \- ESA has a Director General and then 10 other Directors for different things? Some of them are also "Head of" one facility, but I don't think we'll see all of them in this fic, especially since we're based in Houston anyway. Maybe in flashbacks? I don't know, but don't count on it.
> 
> \- there are apparently a lot more space agencies than I knew/thought, but the vast majority of them are pretty basic and only operate satellites :( let's hope some develop in the future!! Space exploration is cool, kids!!
> 
> \- ASA (Australian Space Agency) was actually founded less than two years ago!! Which left me in shock until I read that Australia had another space agency that was opened in 1986 and closed ten years later for financial problems. C'mon Aussies, I believe in you!!
> 
> \- ISS is the International Space Station, orbiting around the Earth at approximately 400 km of distance. Cool fact: there actually is a Russian astronaut on it at the moment! Can you guess who mine is though? It shouldn't be too hard eheh
> 
> Shout out to the NASA and ESA websites, I'm learning so much! And Wikipedia too, you legend.
> 
> Let me know what you think!  
Next up is Charles, part 2 of this meeting, hurray!!


	5. T-minus 300 days (Charles)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!  
Despite the fact writing is pretty much my coping mechanism I struggled a bit with this chapter, mostly because my mind was elsewhere. I hope it still turned out decent enough.
> 
> A couple of new characters, I think. Some more useless drama. Charles being awful at remembering names. Enjoy!

If he’s not careful, it’s going to slip away from him.

He can’t let that happen.

The sounds and the accents keep blending into a blurry wave he’s struggling to keep hold of.

Why isn’t English his mother tongue?

Focus. There’s no room for distraction.

The conversation can’t rid itself of politics and pathetic attempts at diplomacy and a part of him wants to scream at them to get their act together.

He didn’t come all this way to bear witness to a pissing contest.

Mars. That’s what they should be aiming at.

Mars. The Red Planet. The Roman god of war.

Their next-door neighbour and their biggest enemy.

He’s never been too fond of it, all rusty and covered in dust.

An abandoned project.

He doesn’t like unfinished business.

He doesn’t want it.

Which is why he absolutely has to go up there.

He has made it this far.

He’ll survive this joke of a meeting.

He’s been through worse.

NASA wants to be in charge, of course. He can’t really argue with their logic, but at the same time he can’t exactly say he’s fully okay with it.

He throws a glance at Mattia to test the waters. He doesn’t seem to be opposed to the idea, even though his brow is slightly furrowed.

Not the same thing can be said about Riccardo, who’s sitting beside him and has been tensing up progressively as Wolff kept talking. By now he’s accustomed to Adami’s wariness of strangers interfering with his job. It’s a sentiment he can get behind.

On his other side Daniel keeps paying more attention to what the stone cold NASA astronaut – what’s his name again? – is doing – nothing, he’s not even sure the guy is alive to be honest – rather than actively listening to the people deciding their fate. And okay, it’s painfully obvious now that – Michael? Marcus? Max? – _Max_ is the reason why he left this space agency to join another but… they’re professionals or at least they should act as ones. It’s quite disconcerting how different Daniel seems to be ever since they left Cologne.

He looks over to the screen where the reassuring face of their DG is surrounded by a few other less serene-looking Directors. He has never fully grasped how complex their chain of command is until now. If one of them – ESA or NASA, it doesn’t matter – starts to dig their heels in, this could easily turn into a bloodbath. Not literally, but it would feel like one for sure. He hopes Todt gave everyone a lecture in private before connecting the call. God knows they need unity now more than ever.

“Sounds good to me. We did come here from Europe and not the other way round, after all,” says Mattia, making everyone release a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Even Charles is quite surprised to feel himself relaxing into his chair.

The old man sitting at the head of the table smirks smugly and for some reason he can’t quite place yet it sends a shiver down his spine. Maybe it’s Daniel’s influence. He did tell him not to trust anyone he’d meet here and this man – NASA Administrator, his brain supplies – doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence so far.

“How long would it take to have everything ready for lift-off?” asks Todt. “We are working on a Mars mission here at ESA with a 2025 target, but if we combine our efforts, I believe we could do it a lot faster.”

Just as he did before the man who’s missing an eye – Charles definitely needs to improve his name learning process – scoffs and mutters something underneath his breath. Another person to add to his blacklist apparently.

Director Brawn leans a bit forward on the table to address this side of the room directly.

“We’ve been planning a Mars mission too,” he says as Binotto nods. “With a similar deadline. Obviously we don’t have the luxury of time now and we’ll have to make some adjustments. I believe our engineers are discussing the matter right now in a separate meeting.”

A phone buzzes. It’s Wolff’s.

“They agreed on a six months work schedule,” he declares. “It turns out you guys are way ahead of us in the calculations.”

His smile as he says it doesn’t sound as genuine as his words, but Charles knows better than to give importance to silly rivalries among engineers. They always strive to be the best, the fastest, the cleverest. Most of them act as if they’re the only ones capable of solving an equation. Still, he feels a surge of pride knowing that their engineers are better than NASA’s. He’ll take every single victory he can get.

“A December launch then. Okay, sounds doable,” says Mattia. “Four astronauts, who’s going?”

It’s a simple question. The answer should be obvious, really.

What are you afraid of, then?

It’s not like you’ve been dreaming about this your whole life.

You haven’t trained and studied and given up anything that wasn’t useful for _this_.

Leaving your family and your country behind.

Leaving your whole life behind to build yourself a new one.

Sometimes he wonders whether he left himself behind too.

Scraped off the ordinary and unimportant Riviera boy to uncover the brilliant and exceptional Oxford graduate.

Or is it the other way around?

How much did he change in the process of becoming the youngest ESA astronaut since its founding?

The youngest astronaut on the ISS in all its history?

The first and only Monegasque astronaut?

An endless string of titles and accomplishments and broken records.

Is this who he truly is?

Right now he doesn’t feel too different from the shy and awkward teenager who struggled with his English homework and didn’t know how to talk to a girl without blabbering facts about the Milky Way.

He always felt different until he decided he wanted to be different than everyone else.

And he did it. He distanced himself from everything and everyone.

But did he really?

Surrounded by people with an IQ impressively close to his, spending his days with space obsessed nerds, finding himself in a room full of mathematical geniuses he has to admit it doesn’t feel like it.

He’s not any more special than any of these guys.

They’re all smart and prepared. They’ve all got experience. Damn, a few seats away from his sits Kimi – _the legend_ – Räikkönen.

Why should they choose you?

Why shouldn’t they?

He’s going up there. He has to.

After a brief pause Mattia keeps talking.

“We are sending our two best astronauts” – he nods to Daniel and him and Charles feels as light as he would be – _will_ be – on the surface of Mars – “and we expect you to do the same, but we need to know who they’re going to be.”

Their big bosses exchange looks with each other as this part of the table waits somewhat patiently. What now? As far as he’s aware there are three NASA astronauts in this room, the decision really shouldn’t be that hard.

“Of course, of course. We need to pick people that can carry out the missions they’ll be given” starts Wolff cautiously. “If I may, Lieutenant Leclerc, you are? An engineer?”

“A physicist,” he corrects.

He chose his degree specifically in order to avoid being just another one among a myriad of engineers. Harder to study, but easier to get himself picked. It’s definitely something that stands out on a candidate’s CV. And it’s not like he disliked the subject.

“Oh, that’s good to hear,” Wolff comments.

Of course it is. Especially for the kind of crazy venture they’re going to attempt.

“Daniel as we know is an engineer and he has previous experience in space too. Just like our Max,” he continues.

Charles would like to point out that he’s been to space too, thank you very much, but he suspects this conversation has moved past him already.

Wolff glances at the above-mentioned before saying what everyone in this room already knew upon entering.

“Our dear Captain will participate to this mission. Obviously.”

Creepy old guy – he really needs to stop calling him that – looks so proud one would almost think he’s the one who’s been chosen. And it’s in this moment that Charles remembers. Don’t they have the same surname? Wait. Dan mentioned something about a NASA astronaut being the son… oh, he gets it now. Is that even legally allowed? Whatever.

“You’ve worked together before, right, Daniel?” Mattia asks. “You won’t have a problem working together again, I imagine.”

The reply is a strangled noise from the back of his throat. It was probably meant to be an affirmative sound. What the fuck happened between these two?

As he turns to see his expression he finds that it’s already been schooled into a half smile. Oh, he’s good. Not _too_ good for his observant spirit, but he’s quite good nonetheless.

“No problem at all, sir,” he adds.

Let’s hope this lie doesn’t backfire and roast them all.

“Colonel Räikkönen, I’m assuming you’ll be joining us too,” says Mattia.

The man in question – five missions in space, holds record for longest spacewalk of all time, spent a whole year orbiting around the Earth – looks as unbothered as ever. Charles finally understands the true extent of the _iceman_ moniker.

On the other side of the table the German man who fought with Jenson earlier – Wafer? Feter? Vettel, maybe? – fidgets a lot in his chair and sends Räikkönen a look. The Finnish astronaut reacts promptly.

“Nah. I’m too old for this shit.”

Well, pardon my French.

_Quoi_?

Did he just imply he’s in retirement? Off duty? Not flying anymore?

As he tries so hard not to drop his mouth open in shock he realises that Vettel – or whatever his name is – just sagged in what must be relief. Interesting. Another thing to dig into later.

“I think what Kimi meant to say is that you guys will manage to have fun without him,” remarks the stylish guy sitting next to Daniel. His surname – Charles knows it for sure because he immediately associated it to the musical – is Hamilton. His name starts with L. Louis? He sounds British so it’s probably Lewis. Yes. Well done, Charles.

Räikkönen – _Kimi_ – barely acknowledges what he just said, but he seems to be smirking a little bit. Ugh, he’s definitely going to have a hard time trying to read this man’s thoughts.

But if he isn’t going, who will go up there with them?

“Gasly is going to be our second astronaut,” announces Wolff and there’s immediately some murmuring from his bosses. “He’s a biologist. We may need one on the mission” he reasons.

A biologist, uh? Just like Jules then.

“We are _not_ sending Pierre,” thunders Polyphemus from his corner. Okay, he totally needs Daniel to give him a quick recap of everyone’s name because his brain is absolutely fried today. “He’s not ready. He’s never even been to space.”

Charles looks over to the poor guy. How old could he be? He’s probably around his age. Yeah, it’s a bit weird he hasn’t been a part of any mission yet, but then again Charles did outrun everything and everyone in his career so far. He wouldn’t be a valid comparison even if he knew how things work here at NASA.

He can’t help but feel some sympathy for this Gasly dude. _Pierre_. God knows he could use a French speaking colleague in this mess. Daniel – bless his heart – is truly making an effort, but his French pronunciation remains utter shit. Besides, sitting in a meeting about a super important mission – first time on Mars y’all - only to be told that you won’t be a part of it must be heart-breaking.

Surprisingly enough Pierre doesn’t seem too much taken aback by the news. Almost like he knew this moment was coming. Almost like he’s used to this kind of treatment. It’s kind of sad.

“Who are you suggesting then?” asks Wolff. He doesn’t sound too pleased. Charles is getting the impression this might be a recurring situation.

“We had that Spanish guy…” he pauses. “What ever happened to him?”

A wave of embarrassment crashes on everyone’s face.

Brawn is the first one to speak.

“He pulled out of the program a few months ago. That’s why we assigned Pierre to Max,” he explains.

Daniel is trying his best not to openly snicker and he’s not the only one stuck in this awkward balance between professionalism and, well, making fun of NASA for their show of internal incompetence.

Their MOD appears to be dealing with a severe case of second-hand embarrassment. So much for the best space agency in the whole world. He’s starting to comprehend Daniel’s contempt for this place and these people.

“He did _what_ now? Why? He can’t do that!” shouts one-eye-guy. Wolff emits a noise that sounds a lot like a groan. “We’ll discuss this later. We still can’t send _him_” – he points at Gasly – “he’s weak!”

Everyone turns to stare at him in disbelief. It’s unethical – to say the least – to talk about one of your astronauts like this. Does he even remember that they are human beings too?

Binotto looks crossed but he knows it’s not his place to say anything.

God, what a mess. What a mess.

“We can’t send anyone else. We don’t have valid alternatives. We don’t need another engineer up there,” Wolff tries to reason with him like one would do with a bratty child. The patience this man must have.

Once again Charles would want to shout a _hello? remember me? _to them all. He’s not an engineer for goodness’ sake. He gets the point, but… yeah. It sucks.

Their back and forth bickering is interrupted by Kimi’s voice. (Are they on a first name basis yet?)

“There’s nothing wrong with Pierre,” he states with such conviction he could have just as well said that the Earth orbits around the Sun. No one would dare questioning this man’s beliefs.

“He passed all the required tests. He deserves to be here and he’s a brilliant astronaut. It’s a shame not all of us can see it,” he continues.

Whoa, there. What did this Gasly guy do to be endorsed by a living legend? Charles is impressed and not at all jealous. Senpai Kimi please adopt me too.

Whiny dude finally shuts up even though from the looks of it this was a bitter pill to swallow.

To everyone’s relief the air feels breathable again.

Wolff decides to sum up this endless and draining meeting before sending everyone on their way.

“Okay then, gentlemen. Quick recap: we’ll be on Mars next year. Four astronauts. We will lead the operations, but we’ll cooperate with ESA the whole time. Launch expected in December. Any questions?”

No one answers and they slowly start to get up.

They’re going on Mars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By now you should know the drill lmao
> 
> \- Cologne, in Germany, is where ESA astronauts train and live, at EAC
> 
> \- it probably seems a bit ridiculous that they went from "oh yeah we planned to go in 2025" to "okay we'll do it in six months", but I figured they probably wanted a brand new class of astronauts to go to Mars. They did say they could have easily finished developing the technology and whatnot a lot faster. If they don't have to train people from scratch, the process is probably much easier.
> 
> \- fun fact: gravity on Mars is approximately 38% of the gravity we experience on Earth.
> 
> \- once again: the ranks are supposed to make sense, but they probably don't. They're not what we're here for, right?
> 
> \- _quoi?_ is "what?" in French <strike>as we know, Charles's favourite thing to scream on the radio</strike>
> 
> \- sooo Lewis is not an astronaut here. Hope no one shouts at me, but we couldn't have all of them being astronauts :( also, I thought he'd be quite good with a role in PR. He's going to be our spokesperson! I figured they'd choose someone who's diplomatic and has a reassuring/friendly face so idk it fits him I think.
> 
> \- Jules. It feels a bit weird to include him in this, but don't worry! Nothing bad happens to him here, he's just going to be mentioned every now and then because he's friends with Charles but that's it. He lives a long and happy life. At first I thought I wanted Charles's first mission to be tainted by something bad/tragic, but nah my boy deserves better. Jules is his mentor and they went to space together once. And then he quit to start a family of his own and he lives somewhere in the south of France now. As it should be. <strike>Is this me trying to fix something that can't be fixed? Totally! </strike>
> 
> \- I read somewhere that people who want to become an astronaut should have a degree in Engineering or Physics or Biology or something of that sort so I run with that. Also, the more languages you speak the better. *thinks about that video of Daniil and Pierre visiting NASA*
> 
> \- I forgot to mention it in the previous chapter but MOD apparently is the guy connecting the flight control room to the big bosses. Or that's what I got from my poor research. I figured Horner would be perfect for this role.
> 
> \- NASA please don't sue me for making it sound like you mistreat your astronauts. You'd never do that, right?
> 
> As usual shout out to the NASA and ESA websites, Wiki and also season 2 of DTS. I watched episodes 5 & 6 before writing this chapter #JusticeForPierre
> 
> I expect the next chapter to be quite short and y'all are going to hate what's in it. The following one is going to be a lot fun though, I hope.
> 
> Let me know what you think!!


	6. T-plus 90 minutes (Lewis)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This is quite heavy, I know, I'm sorry, but I have to keep the angst alive somehow! (And I needed to let some negative emotions out, sorry again.) Even though, I've told you and you should know since it isn't in the tags/warnings: no one dies!! <strike>Doesn't mean I can't torture you with useless worry!! *evil laughter*</strike>
> 
> I hope to be able to write the next chapter soon, I'm really looking forward to it, but my brain is just _zero thoughts, head empty_. Sorry.
> 
> Stay safe and please try and stay home as much as you can. I'm sorry if you have to go to work or your government hasn't shut things down. Sending you hugs and let's hope this nightmare ends soon.

The thin black cursor keeps blinking at him.

The white blank page he doesn’t know how to fill.

He’s been staring at it for the past ten minutes.

This is a document he hoped he’d never need.

He shuts his eyes trying to will the tears away.

A big breath before his fingertips start flying.

_We regret to inform you that as of today, April 11, 2020, the _ _Spes_ _ mission has_

No.

He shakes his head and deletes the whole sentence.

A part of him is still waiting for a miracle.

But it’s quite ironic, isn’t it?

That a mission named _Hope_ ended so tragically.

Maybe that’s what he should be writing about.

_Four months ago we sent four brilliant and brave men to a difficult task. They were aware of the risks, they knew of the possibility to never return to their homes and loved ones. They knew yet they went anyway. For the sake of us all, they put their own lives a step below everyone else’s._

His hands are trembling and there’s a knot in his throat, but he knows he can’t stop otherwise this statement will never be finished.

He owes it to them.

It’s the least he can do.

_Today, April 11, 2020, at 17:42 CDT we lost contact with the Minerva shuttle they were travelling on. All of our engineers are working tirelessly_

To do what?

There’s very little they can do from here.

His eyes keep burning and it’s hard to tell whether it is because of the hours spent in front of a screen or the salty water threatening to spill all over.

Both.

_Today, April 11, 2020, at 17:42 CDT we lost contact with the Minerva shuttle they were travelling on. All transmissions were lost following what we believe must have been a crash landing on the surface of Mars. The occupants of the vehicle_

So cold and informal.

It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about a tragedy.

It doesn’t sound like he’s talking about people he knew.

He should write their names, he knows, but his fingers keep slipping just as he’s pressing on capital Ms and Cs.

For now, clinical is best.

Clinical will do.

_The occupants of the vehicle are presumed dead at impact. We offer our deepest condolences to their families. A more detailed statement will follow as soon as_

The door suddenly flies open and bangs against the nearby wall. He’s about to yell at whoever had such a lack of consideration in a moment like this, when he realises it’s a hysterical young man he knows quite well. His eyes are still puffy, his hair looks like he’s tried to pull it out and he’s twitching all over, but overall Lewis would say that he looks _happy?? _Is this kid high or are they getting drunk already?

He moves to speak, but Lando is faster than him.

“They have found them, Lewis, they have found them!”

Hope blooms into his chest like a premature spring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to add to this chapter I think
> 
> \- "spes" is Latin for "hope", yes, I know, it's cheesy, what about it?
> 
> \- CDT should be the Houston time zone this time of the year??? 
> 
> \- I've read the speech that was prepared in case the moon landing went sideways, but I figured Lewis wouldn't feel like waxing poetry over his supposedly deceased friends
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


	7. T-minus 300 days - Carlos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii does anyone still remember this fic? I hope so. Sorry for not updating in literal ages, but first coronabitch happened and I was too drained to think about this angst filled fic, then I was busy with uni and my motivation just flew out of the window. It be like that sometimes.
> 
> Anywayyy here we are with another chapter and a brand new character! I think I've introduced all the main ones now, hurray! Hope you enjoy it and, as usual, notes at the end for space stuff.
> 
> Oh and once again: not an aerospace engineer, just living off some lazy Wiki reads.

A weight settles on his chest the minute he spots them.

Not that kind of weight, luckily for him.

Not yet.

His eyes linger on that empty spot again.

The therapist NASA assigned him keeps telling him not to.

That if it bothers him so much, maybe he should just pin something else to his lapel.

He always laughs at the thought.

It’s a bitter one.

Full of regret and unaccomplished dreams.

There’s a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

He wonders when he will finally be free of it.

He wonders _if_.

Then, like any other morning, he clips his badge to his shirt and leaves.

But in his bones he knows: today is no ordinary morning.

_Engineers meeting in 15. Big room. ESA is here._

That’s the only thing the message he receives says. No one even told them that someone from ESA was coming here. He’d like to pretend he doesn’t know what this is about, but the thing is – he is not dumb.

Carlos closes his laptop with a sigh and unplugs it from its station on his desk. He debates whether he should pick up a bag for it or not, then decides against it. The _big room_ is only two floors and a few metres away after all. Of course that room has an actual, proper name, like all the other important buildings and meeting rooms at JSC. But no one ever calls it like that, to everyone it’s just the _big room_. Carlos never even bothered learning who it’s named after.

He locks the door of his office – not that there’s anything hidden in there, it’s just the rules – and walks down the hallway until he reaches the nearest lifts. While he waits for the lift to arrive he can’t help but go back to the sight he was greeted with this morning. He knew those people were not NASA. He felt it. And this could only mean one thing…

He steps inside the lift and presses the button on autopilot, his mind still wandering in dangerously familiar territory. They are definitely preparing a mission and they got ESA involved too. He would be a liar if he said it doesn’t hurt, but his therapist did say it was going to happen eventually. Maybe it’s for the best. He can have a quieter life this way. Down on Earth.

The lift reaches the floor and he gets out of it, laptop still held tightly under his right arm. As he makes his way down the corridors he tries to remember all the knowledge he has of Mars and the current problems with it. How distant it is, what the normal temperature is up there, how different the gravity would be. He is going through the differences and similarities between the two moons of Mars when a body collides against his.

“Uh… sorry!” the unknown boy shouts as he briefly walks backwards, probably to assess the damage he just caused. Not much luckily, but if Carlos were holding a cup of coffee or something alike, things could have been way worse.

“Watch where you are going next time!” Carlos replies, shaking his head slightly and turning around, before walking away. Kids these days… Wait. It’s only then he pieces it all together. The NASA tee, the backpack, looking a bit lost… The boy must be a student on some high school trip. “You can’t be here, you know?” he adds, but when he stops to turn around once more the kid is gone. Carlos sighs as he pulls out his phone to alert security about a nosy visitor. He hates this day already.

Agreeing on a schedule, ironically enough, had been the easy part. Then they had been debating over what kind of spacecraft propulsion they should be using for the better part of two hours: ESA insisting on standard propellant while NASA kept repeating that ion thrusters would work just fine. Carlos of course sided with his agency on this one and he gets it, ESA is a bit more conservative, but if better technology is right there, why shouldn’t they use it?

The ongoing discussion is about planet landing which is cool and important, but it’s been three hours now, can they take a little break? Have some lunch? A cup of coffee, at least? His caloric intake is still way too close to the one he had as an astronaut – _training_ astronaut, his brain corrects – and he suffers during long meetings like this one. He’s just about to collapse on the desk – not above faking a medical emergency yet – when the door opens and a mop of curls shyly peaks through.

“Lando, _finally_, I was so worried!” one of the ESA engineers exclaims as he stands up to get him and drag him to his chair.

“Sorry everyone, sorry Alex, it’s just- I got lost looking for the bathroom and- and then I couldn’t find my way back and then I got stopped by- by _security_ – can you believe it? – because someone told them I was breaching or something and” – the boy keeps rambling and it’s only when he sits down almost in front of him that Carlos recognises who he is, just around the time he does – “wait, that was _you_! Why did you call security on me?” the boy – _Lando_ – incredulously asks.

“Because you looked like a teenager who had lost his teacher?” Carlos replies, making Lando scoff in offence. “Who are you, by the way?”

“I-” Lando begins before looking to Alex for help.

“He’s my assistant and he’s specialising in my field, control engineering,” Alex calmly explains, a hand still on Lando’s shoulder probably in reassurance.

“In that case, better tell your _assistant_ to stay close to you and not wander off,” Carlos suggests, an edge in his words.

Lando opens his mouth for a few seconds, he wants to retort somehow, but someone from Carlos’s side of the table clears his throat.

“If we could get back to our discussion, please, we were talking about the pros and cons of aerocapture on an unstable Mars.”

Carlos sags in his chair again, mentally preparing for another hour – or more – of suffering and data being thrown across the room. The only thing he hates more than heat shields? Talking about heat shields. And aerocapture, apparently, requires endless talks on the topic. Moments like this are the worst for his mental wellbeing – not that he was exempted from technical meetings before but – why can’t just someone present him with the final decisions and let him live?

He’s about to fall asleep with his eyes open when Lando suddenly intervenes: “My friend Charles says that aerobraking is always the best option for planet landing, he should know, he’s been to space.”

Next to Carlos someone can’t contain a groan, and yeah, same. Who the fuck is this kid? Didn’t they have enough annoying people at NASA already?

“_Lando_,” Alex hisses at him, before smiling at the rest of the table like a mother whose child is misbehaving at the big family reunion for grandpa’s 90th birthday.

“What? I’m just saying,” Lando replies with a shrug, but realising he probably made a dumb and unnecessary comment. You know what? Carlos is bored enough.

“I think the boy here has a point,” he says with conviction. “Aerocapture as we know requires a huge effort from the heat shields and a much more difficult manoeuvre. Aerobraking, on the other hand, is much easier to achieve and it would save us a lot of fuel and weight.”

“Yep, can’t forget about the weight, George always tells me that,” Lando comments, earning a few quiet laughs and snorts from some of the engineers present.

“Who are these people he keeps mentioning?” someone whispers just as Carlos asks: “George? Russell? Do you guys still call him with that nickname? What was it? Don’t tell me.” He pauses and frowns in thought, trying to remember. “_Ah_!” – he exclaims when the words finally pop in his head – “_Mini Kimi_, right? I always found it so funny!” he adds with a laugh.

“How- how does he know that?” Lando wonders, staring at Alex who has a similar look of incredulity on his face.

“What? You are not the only one who has astronaut friends, you know?” Carlos smugly says, leaving out the fact that he was just a few months of training away from becoming a proper astronaut too. It’s definitely not something suited for a first conversation. And it’s none of their business anyway.

“So, aerobraking? Let’s put it to a vote,” their senior engineer suggests.

Lando and Alex are quick to raise their hands and in the next few seconds most of the people sitting at the table have done the same thing. Carlos raises his right hand almost lazily, a smirk on his lips as he stares at the young boy before winking and the boy just honest to God blushes. He lets out an embarrassing giggle too, before clapping a hand down on his mouth, but it’s too late, Carlos heard him. He remembers what his colleague, Alex, said about their field. Control engineering. Being a data expert himself this means they will likely work side by side.

Oh boy. This is going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! Let's explain some stuff:  
\- the pin hinted in the beginning is the astronaut pin NASA astronauts receive when they officially become astronauts. It's in silver for those who have completed training but haven't flown yet and it's golden for those who have been to space already. You can find a picture and read more about it [here](https://www.space.com/nasa-astronaut-pin-history.html)
> 
> \- fun fact: the two moons of Mars are named after the twin sons of Ares, who is the Greek version of Mars, god of war. Phobos and Deimos accompanied their father into battle and represented panic and dread. Yeah, it's not a lovely image ahah
> 
> \- spacecraft propulsion is the method used to accelerate in space by any kind of spacecraft, so basically what kind of engine they are using and what it's fuelled by. It could be engines that work similarly to the ones we know in cars (internal combustion) using fuel (propellant) - of course not like the one with use for cars ahah - or it could be other things where heat is not involved that much, like ion thrusters. These work with atoms: you take a gas, take some electrons out of it, then you make the ionized gas go through an electric field and boom it accelerates and you can use it to push you. (God, I really hope no one who actually studied Physics ever comes across my silly explanations.) I read they are trying to develop a new kind of ion thruster that would potentially allow us to go to Mars in 39 days only? <strike>Magic, I swear.</strike> Science, bitch!
> 
> \- planet landing is an actual serious problem, because you need to brake and slow down a bit before landing (unless you want to become a pancake). You can do it in a variety of ways, but the ones discussed here are aerobraking and aerocapture. Aerobraking, the one they choose to use, is shown pretty well - for my knowledge - in Interstellar. When they have to land on the first planet and they spiral down on it exploiting the planet's atmosphere and the air resistance caused by it to decelerate and have a softer landing. Aerocapture, on the opposite, is much more dramatic. You fling yourself right through the atmosphere, having quite a big deceleration (which is not good for humans) and heating up your spacecraft a lot - hence why the need for a robust heat shield, unless you want to be a burnt toast. Once you've slowed down you find your orbit around the planet but before doing that you dump the poor heat shield down on the planet itself, you don't need it anymore. Yes, I know, lots of space pollution too. (Humans are terrible.)
> 
> \- from what I gathered control engineers deal with, well, making sure everything is working fine? It's a bit like telemetry on racing cars. Making sure things are the right temperature, oxygen levels are okay, they are good on fuel, stuff like that.
> 
> \- Charles hasn't actually landed on a planet but whatever, Lando is proud of his friends and their accomplishments, okay?
> 
> \- I'm quite proud of George's nickname lmao I'm so lame
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoyed this chapter, tell me your thoughts!


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